


tintinnabulation

by surgicalstainless



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Concussed Clint Barton, First Kiss, Humor, M/M, Marvel RarePair Exchange, Minor Violence, Mission Fic, Non-graphic injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2759495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surgicalstainless/pseuds/surgicalstainless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all happened so fast.</p><p><em>That's what she said</em>, Clint heard faintly, under the bells. He was pretty sure that was the concussion talking.</p><p>Mumble something bell rings, something angel gets their wings?</p>
            </blockquote>





	tintinnabulation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [G4LL0WSC4LL1BR4T0R](https://archiveofourown.org/users/G4LL0WSC4LL1BR4T0R/gifts).



> For G4LL0WSC4LL1BR4T0R, for the Marvel Rare Pair Exchange. I tried my best to do "almost died" while skirting around the worst of the gore/medical stuff. I hope it's okay, and that you like it!
> 
>  
> 
> Clint's characterization is based on Matt Fraction's _Hawkeye_ , because we don't know what movie!Clint is like when he's not on a mission, brainwashed, or on a mission after having just been brainwashed. Timelines? Canon? Universe crossovers? _*waves hands*_
> 
> I would also like to point out for the record that head injuries are Serious Business, and neither you nor Clint Barton should treat them lightly.

It all happened so fast.

 _That's what she said_ , Clint heard faintly, under the bells. He was pretty sure that was the concussion talking.

**———**

"Barton, Romanoff, you'll have air support on this mission from Agent Wilson, codenamed Falcon." Deputy Director Hill nodded at the incredibly good-looking black man who had been sitting silently in the corner of the briefing room. "Any questions?" No one spoke up, so she tapped her papers into a neat stack and stood to leave. "All right, wheels up in thirty." 

Hot new guy stood up, too. He smiled at Hill as they crossed paths, and then he was standing in front of Clint with his hand stuck out. Smiling at him. With his soft-looking lips and his white teeth and cheekbones and. Uh.

Clint blinked a couple of times.

Hot new guy's smile faded a little. His hand was still stuck out, Clint noticed. Hot new guy had very nice arms. "Hawkeye. Pleased to meet you. I'm Sam Wilson. Natasha's told me a lot about you."

 _Oh._ He wanted to shake hands, because that was what people did when they met someone new. Clint stuck his hand out, too, and Sam Wilson shook it. His hand was really warm. "Uh. Yeah. Bird-codenames, right? Birds of a feather should... stick... together."

Sam gently extracted his hand. From somewhere behind him, Natasha make an odd choked-off noise. "You ready to go, Hawkeye?" Her voice was completely level, but Clint could just _hear_ the laughter there. He flipped her off behind his back.

"Right. I'll just..." Clint put on his Very Serious Mission face and made for the door.

Nat followed, still impassive.

"You talked about me to Falcon? What'd you say?" Clint tried not to sound too pathetically hopeful.

Natasha's smile was seraphic. "Only the truth."

"Oh, God," Clint groaned.

"Don't worry," she told him. "He likes Steve okay. Maybe he's got a thing for total basket cases."

**———**

The mission was simple. Some low-level HYDRA outpost in some half-abandoned industrial area, no sweat. Clint found himself a nice high perch and spent a happy half-hour putting arrows in goons who stepped out of cover. He had a bet with Natasha over how many he could drop before anybody noticed. The way things were going, he might have overestimated the quality of goon.

_**BARP BARP barp barp BARP BARP** _

Clint froze, flattened to the rooftop, then risked a careful peek through the skylight. Oh, great. By the looks of it, Security Goon #2 over there turned the page of his newspaper too enthusiastically, which knocked over his coffee, which spilled onto the switchboard, which shorted out the alarm. _Seriously_. Evil these days. 

...Only Black Widow was in the control room right at that moment, busy stealing all their evil files. 

Well, shit. Clint keyed up his radio. "Widow, you've got incoming. Falcon, fire your jets. We'll just have to give them something to be _alarmed_ about."

The radio crackled to life with the sound of Nat's heartfelt groan, accented by small arms fire. Sam made kind of a disbelieving scoff, and Clint saw him suddenly rise into the air on huge mechanical wings. There was a trumpet fanfare, Clint was pretty sure. Falcon was backdropped by the late afternoon sun, and those wings glinted and shimmered as he banked toward Clint's position. A pair of machine pistols magically appeared in Sam's hands, and he began to lay waste to all goons within range. Clint swallowed, hard.

A stray bullet shattered the skylight at Clint's elbow, making him jump. Oh, right. Mission.

Clint picked up his bow again and set to work picking off targets as fast as he could choose them. Geez, there were goons everywhere. They were swarming like ants towards Widow's location —

There was a low rumble, and the building beneath Clint's feet shivered like a nervous horse. Abruptly, every HYDRA goon who could still walk reversed course and started running _away_ from the center of the facility. Clint's heart dropped into his guts. He hit the comms: "Nat, get out of there, something's really wrong. Widow, go _now!_ "

Her voice sounded in his ear at the same moment he saw her, a small black figure with red hair cutting in and out of cover at the far end of the compound. "I'm good, I'm out, I'm gone," she said, only the faintest hint of breathlessness to show how hard she was working.

Sam cut in. "Barton, you think you should move? I don't like —"

But his words disappeared in a terrible rumble as the building crumbled away beneath Clint's feet, and he fell out of sight, swallowed by a hungry cloud of grit and dust.

**———**

...Bells were ringing somewhere close by. A whole bunch of 'em, jangling, like right next to Clint's head. What was the word for the sound of bells?

. . .

...This was probably the most uncomfortable bed Clint had ever slept in. Well, definitely top five. There were pointy things jabbing into his back, and something big and heavy was lying across his right leg and half his chest, twisting his knee in a way that did not feel good At All. This was worse than that time Nat made them go camping and the tree roots tried to impale him in his sleep. Were they camping? Was there a bear on his leg? Did he sleep with a bear?

. . .

...No, not time to wake up yet. Five more minutes. If only the sun would stop stabbing him in the eye, and those futzing _bells_ would _stop ringing_...

. . .

...A shadow flickered across Clint's vison. It was distracting. It was — Clint was trying to sleep, here. He scrunched up his eyes, but the shadow flickered again. _Fine_. Clint peeled one eye open and worked to focus.

Oh.

There was a hot man with wings standing in front of him. He had a halo of fire around him and his wings were gleaming —metal? — and he looked kind of concerned even as he smiled. Clint figured that was about right. Angel probably got his Naughty and Nice lists mixed up somehow. Still, there was an angel smiling down at him, and that felt pretty good. Clint relaxed and let his eyes close again, just for a minute.

. . .

"Barton? ...Clint? —— hear me?"

Clint's eyelids were peeled back and a light assaulted his eyeballs, one at a time. _Ugh_. "Go 'way," he muttered. Two large, warm hands cupped his face and pressed tenderly, looking for sore spots, then moved over his skull and down his neck. Briskly they patted over his shoulders and arms, and started on the buckles of his tac vest. 

Clint decided that now would be a good time to join the party. He cracked an eyelid, and got to work on a roguishly charming smile. "Don't you," the words came out a little slurred. Clint frowned and concentrated harder. His head _hurt_. "Don'tcha think you should buy me dinner first, angel?"

The hands stopped. Clint made a herculean effort and got both eyes open and focused. The hot man with wings was kneeling over him, trying to remove his clothes. _Okay_. He looked worried. _Not_ okay. Clint wondered where his arms were, closed his eyes to concentrate on a brief search. Yeah, there. Both working, that was nice.

He reached up, got one hand in the straps across the angel's chest, the other cupping the back of his neck. Clint smiled in satisfaction. He was a Hawkeye; he never missed. He tugged, weakly, and the hot man with wings bent down closer. "Don't be sad," he told the angel, "it'll be okay," and he craned his neck up a little to pull the man into a kiss. The angel stiffened in surprise, but Clint was really good at holding on tight, so he stretched the kiss, slipped his tongue out for a quick taste. Angels tasted like coffee and cinnamint toothpaste, who knew.

A second shape appeared over the angel's shoulder. Clint broke the kiss and let go, because he knew this one! That was Natasha. Nat. She had dirt on her face and her hair was a mess, and she was frowning. Clint smiled beatifically up at her. "Tasha," he said.

"Don't call me that," she said, but her frown went away some. To the angel she said, "Sam, that's the last of them all mopped up. Evac's three minutes out. How is he?"

Hot man with wings — _Sam_ — straightened from his crouch to look at her. "The parts I can see look okay. I'll need your help to shift this chunk of wall, though. Think he got his bell rung pretty good."

Clint stared up at him. "Yes! There are bells ringing," he agreed.

Sam and Nat heaved the heavy thing off him, and Sam patted his legs down, looking pleased. Clint was pleased that Sam was pleased. He _did_ have nice legs. Then a whole bunch of other people arrived, and there was a lot of boring medical talk, and Nat and Sam wandered out of Clint's line of sight. He stopped paying attention after that.

**———**

Clint was sneaking out of Medical the next day when he literally bumped into Sam, who was sneaking in.

Sam steadied Clint, then backed off a few steps to give him the once-over, eyebrows raised almost to his hairline.

"Okay," Clint said. "This looks bad." He had a complicated brace on his right knee, and he was wearing practically all of Medical's collection of cartoon band-aids. Dried, matted blood was making his hair stick up in the back. He was wearing stolen hospital scrubs, which were too big, and hobbling along on stolen crutches, which were too small. 

Sam snorted a laugh. "How's your head, man?"

"Aches like you wouldn't believe." Clint put a hand up to feel for the bump on his scalp and almost fell over. "Aw, crutches."

Easy as breathing, Sam stepped up and under Clint's arm, supporting him with a hand across his back. "Need some help?"

Normally, Clint would have said no. He didn't like people fussing when he was injured, hated leaning on anyone, except maybe Nat. But Sam was already there, like it was no big deal, and his hand was so warm against Clint's battered muscles. He leaned in, just a bit. "I'm sure you've got better things to do. Who were you going to see, anyway?"

"You," Sam said, like it was obvious. He held up his other hand, and Clint could see that it clutched a brown paper bag spotted here and there with grease. "Thought you might be hungry."

Clint eyed the bag. "What's in there?"

"Burgers, fries. Natasha mentioned there was a diner that you liked, so..."

Clint's eyes fluttered closed on a heartfelt sigh. "You are an angel."

"I keep hearing that." Sam's voice was warm with laughter.

"You wanna help me make a break for it?" Clint asked. "I know a place that makes great milkshakes."

Sam took the crutches away from Clint and maneuvered them until they were facing the exit. "Well, you know, birds of a feather should stick together."

Clint groaned. "I have a _head injury_ ," he informed Sam with as much dignity as he could muster.

Sam didn't say anything, but his shoulders shook as they moved slowly down the hall.

**———**

Sam set down his milkshake and idly stole one Clint's fries. "You remember much of what happened yesterday?" he asked.

Clint chewed, swallowed. This burger was the _best_. "Uh, not really. The building was shaking, then everything was really loud, and..." He squinted at Sam. "I remember you were there."

Sam nodded, a strange expression on his face. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"You were..." Clint trailed off, then set his burger down very carefully. "I — Did I... _kiss_ you?"

Sam cleared his throat. A faint blush spread over his cheekbones. It would be gorgeous, if Clint weren't too busy being mortified.

Well. This was awkward. For lack of anything better to do, Clint took a long pull on his milkshake. It made a horrible gurgling noise; the girl in the next booth turned and gave him a dirty look. He sank down in his seat, as much as his aching body would let him. "Could I have my crutches back, please? I'd like to hobble away now."

Sam glanced up at Clint through his lashes, which Clint decided immediately should be illegal. "It wasn't awful."

Clint coughed. "It wasn't?"

"I mean, normally if I'm going to be kissed by a hot blond I'd prefer they _weren't_ concussed all to hell, but..." Sam smiled. "I wouldn't mind trying again."

Not awful. Hot blond. _Try again_. Did that mean — 

Clint sat up straight. His head didn't hurt quite so much, now. "Does this count as our first date? Wait, does _that_ count as our first kiss? No! I get a do-over, right?"

Sam tipped his head back and laughed. Neon lights from the diner window made a halo around him, and somewhere close by, Clint thought, bells were ringing.

**Author's Note:**

> I want you to know I had to work very hard not to title this fic "clintonnabulation." The struggle was real. You're welcome.
> 
>  
> 
> That said, you are hereby invited to come visit me on [tumblr](http://z-delenda-est.tumblr.com). I have no idea what I'm doing, but more friends are always better. And I really like prompts.


End file.
